


Bound For Trouble From The Start

by myracingthoughts



Series: Lover Come Back [2]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Beginnings, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24668380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myracingthoughts/pseuds/myracingthoughts
Summary: Clint Barton thought he’d seen it all. International offices, on-the-ground experience and his own gut instinct told him as much.But out of all the things he’d seen in heaven and hell, Darcy Lewis was an enigma.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Darcy Lewis
Series: Lover Come Back [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773718
Comments: 28
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m actually shocked at the response to my first TaserHawk fic, so I decided to make it a loose ‘series’. It’ll jump back and forth in time, and each fic will be able to stand alone, but same universe, same history, same Darcy and Clint.
> 
> Honestly super nervous to follow up the last work (don’t want to let you all down!), so here, have some history. 
> 
> Super thankful for all the community support, and I hope to bring you more of these soon. 
> 
> And yes, we’ll continue where the last fic left off eventually.

Unexplained phenomenon, inconceivable asshole coworkers, extraordinary amounts of privileged information and secrets — Clint Barton thought he’d seen it all. International offices, on-the-ground experience and his own gut instinct told him as much.

After all, he’d seen some weird and awful things in his time at the agency.

But out of all the things he’d seen in heaven and hell, Darcy Lewis was an enigma.

* * *

Since his start at SHIELD, Clint’s role often found him bored and restless, watching and waiting for something to happen. He was an avid people watcher, trying to assign narratives to the faceless, nameless crew working on assignments like these. Anything was better than the monotonous  _ tap, tap, tap _ of tossing pens point-first into the ceiling tiles above his head.

But everything changed after New Mexico. After New York. After London.

The jobs got faster and dirtier, and the hours got even more gruelling. He couldn’t count how many times the word ‘unprecedented’ had been used in recent years, but he was starting to think there’d always be an  _ after _ ; some new cataclysmic event to mark the time before and how much things had changed since.

But among the chaos were the constants—those who managed to find themselves in the center of these ‘afters,’ often by accident.

See also: Darcy Lewis.

He’d known there was more than meets the eye from the moment he met her. Really, truly met her, not just through the SHIELD security tapes from New Mexico. After Selvig, Loki and that whole mindfuck.

After a whole lot of mandated therapy that kept him in and out of Stark Tower for weeks on end.

His first interaction with Darcy happened on one of  _ those _ days, just outside the elevators on the common floor. He’d been restless; the team had been throwing him softballs for weeks now, and it was starting to feel like he just wasn’t trusted. Recon after recon after watchdog mission, the frustration at being passed over had been bubbling up inside, and he was nearing his breaking point.

Nat had been trying to get him to work out his anger with an impromptu sparring session, but it was no use.

“Clint, you need to get it through your thick skull,” she muttered, punctuating the last three words with carefully placed jabs to his sternum. “No one thinks you’re a threat. You’re part of the team.”

He unwrapped his hands and walked out wordlessly, not knowing what to say to that. She could have repeated it a thousand times, screamed it from the rooftops.

It wouldn’t have mattered; it wasn’t true.

Just walking around the building today, he could see that flicker of fear in agents’ eyes, wondering if he could be compromised still, again. Most days, he wondered too.

And so, he left the gym the same way he walked into it: confused and angry.

It was this personal pity party playing live in his brain that had him crashing into one Darcy Lewis with a squeak.

She’d been standing just outside the elevators. He should have seen her. He also knew he  _ should _ apologize, but he was too angry for that, snipe already locked and loaded on his tongue. But before the undeserved snide comment could pass his lips, she spoke up.

“Oh! Sorry, arrow guy. D’you want breakfast?”

The words managed their way out of her mouth, past the half-chewed chunk of bagel she’d just shoved in, completely disarming him. She shook the small bag in her hands for effect as he quirked his brow at her offer, skeptical anyone would willingly part with baked goods.

“It’s Clint. You’re Darcy, right?” She didn’t look at all surprised that he knew her name, simply nodded with a smile and continued her chewing. “You just  _ happen _ to have extra food? And you want to give it to me?”

He eyed her up and down suspiciously, taking in the glasses perched at the tip of her nose, the vintage-looking pin on her lapel, the mismatched socks. Mostly he noticed the way she didn’t look at him like he was about to explode into some sort of rage monster (sorry, Bruce) — a definite upgrade from how others had been treating him lately.

Here she was, offering a stranger food in a building chock full of science experiments, alien artifacts, and agents trained in a hundred ways to take someone out in under a minute.

Was she stupid or insane? Either way, he was intrigued.

“Cafe got my order wrong and gave me the mistake,” she said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Was it that easy?

“How could a bagel ever be a mistake?” It was less of a question and more praise for the glorious carbs in his hands. “Do you want fresh coffee? I was just going to make a pot.”

And that’s how they ended up chatting over the kitchen table in the Tower uninterrupted, by some miracle. They talked about nothing at all, didn’t even manage to touch on his work or being an ‘Avenger’ — whatever the hell that meant.

Clint was thankful she was self-sufficient at conversation because he really wasn’t up for talking. She happily rambled on about their research, dropped some stories about her time with Thor, all while looking him in the eye. He tried to figure out just what colour hers were, gaze drifting to the pink in her cheeks, the waves of her long brown hair.

No ulterior motives, no talking about feelings, and no expectations.

Darcy held onto the cup of coffee like it was her lifeline, smiling at him between tangents from behind the rim of the mug. She looked tired, a little overworked, but no more than any average Tower employee. Her toes tapped absentmindedly against the bar stool’s metal as she spoke, and she didn’t once look at her phone during their entire chat.

Clint tried to take in and piece together all these little details, but he couldn’t quite figure her out. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to, half hoping she’d remain an eternal mystery.

It was nice, refreshing even to just speak to someone without it being only another mission objective.

He’d spent the whole ride back home, just replaying the conversation in his head with a smile on his face. It might have been the oddest run-in he’d ever had. How could something so stupid and so random just make his whole day like that?

It wasn’t until he was in the safety of his Bed-Stuy apartment that the spy part of his brain suddenly engaged in a flurry of suspicious questions.

Why was she even there? And what were the chances someone else wouldn’t have swept in and snagged the treat before he slunk out of the training room? And how did not one single person wander through the kitchen in the two hours they’d spent talking over the kitchen table?

And— oh dear god Barton, it was a  _ setup _ .

Looking back, it was so obviously planned. From the timing to the perfectly placed bagel from his favourite local cafe, no less. But in the moment, in his broody state, it felt so organic. He’d just as easily chalked it up to another random Darcy-ism that would have gotten passed around the team as a fond memory— not that he’d ever admit to this particular run-in.

But the truth was, those two hours they’d spent chatting felt like a getaway from the mess his life had been lately.

Maybe Stark had been sick of his moodiness and decided to sick a science lackey on him? Normally he’d blame Coulson for something like this, but that wasn’t exactly an option anymore… Maybe Darcy just exceptionally perceptive?

_ Nah, couldn’t be. _

He’d bet anything it was Nat’s doing. And not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing it had been just what he needed, he brushed the whole thing aside. Locked up and moved on, he thought he’d seen the last of Darcy for a while. After all, she was a lab rat roped into his best friend’s plot, and he was… well, whatever he was.

And it was just a one-off…

Right?


	2. Chapter 2

Ever feel like the world was trying to smack some sense into you? Like there was one fact, one hard truth that had yet to be seen, and fate decided you needed to learn sooner rather than later? Because no matter how hard Clint Barton tried to keep to himself, Darcy Lewis managed to always  _ somehow _ be in the periphery of Clint’s orbit.

It was as if the universe existed solely to prove him wrong.

He’d have been happy to just forget the whole thing happened and let Nat win her little game, maybe even crack a smile more around the office. The chat, the situation, the setup. It was as good as done; it served its purpose and snapped him out of his mopey moment.

But while he looked back fondly on the memory itself, the idea of having been duped started to get to him. And if there weren’t a million other things keeping him up at night already, this mystery might have cracked the surface. There was something in his stupid spy brain that just didn’t want to let it go.

Something didn’t fit.

So Darcy became  _ that _ file he’d check in on every once in a while. The one that’d pop into his head during an incredibly dull team meeting—  _ especially _ if Stark was droning on at the front of the room. Out of boredom, out of intrigue. Call it whatever you will, but regardless, Clint started keeping close tabs on everyone in her sphere.

After New Mexico, SHIELD had been quietly funding a good chunk of Dr. Foster’s research, so there was enough of a paper trail to make things interesting. Never mind the piles of write-ups wedged into the back of the file ranging from late arrivals to telling off a supervisor (though from her side of that report, it  _ did _ sound like he’d deserved it).

Darcy definitely wasn’t the typical lab rat; he’d seen as much in the paperwork and even managed to catch some glimpses of it up close. The constant fretting over her scientist friend, Jane Foster, the indignant comebacks, the willingness to fight a government entity that could easily off them for the most minor transgression and sweep it all under the rug.

The fiery brunette was like three different people shoved into one body, and he wanted to know  _ how _ .

Why? He couldn’t quite figure it out.

Call it a gut feeling.

And maybe, just  _ maybe _ he’d done a bit of his own research on the side. Just to be thorough. Just trying to kill time. After all, his therapy sessions had tapered down, and the team had continued sending him on bogus ops, so he still had a lot of time on his hands.

Clint quickly learned that besides the people who’d had the pleasure of witnessing her wrath, half the SHIELD staff were pretty sure Darcy Lewis didn’t really exist. If he hadn’t seen her himself, he honestly might have assumed the same. Tasing the God of Thunder was farfetched enough to give her cryptid status amongst agents. She was the local urban legend passed around the agency to warn the ranks against underestimating anyone in the field.

And frankly, that alone was enough to pique Clint’s interest.

But there had to be more. There was only so much you could learn about a person from some typed words on paper. Anyone could tell you that. Knowing what he knew now, armed with these further anecdotes of this mysterious lab assistant with a penchant for finding herself in supernatural situations, he just needed a solution. A bottom line.

After London, Clint got his chance to try.

Stark Industries quickly figured out Jane was onto big things, and it wasn’t long before everyone else started to realize it too. That, of course, meant Darcy was along for the ride. The pair were working in a Stark-funded lab in NYC by the end of that year, one in a building just close enough to a lunch place he loved to have the excuse to pop over there.

He figured he had to pay her back for that bagel, right? Sure, Nat had probably footed the bill as part of her ruse, but Darcy did him a service that day. Time was money, and he needed to level out the playing field if he would get to the root of the matter:  _ her _ .

Plus, there was nothing that made him more uncomfortable than feeling like he owed favours.

And so what if after calling it even with breakfast one morning, they just kept happening to see each other? That’s just what people did, right? Socialize?

He’d just pop by for a visit and just keep it casual.

Stop in to say hi. Have her ask if he worked there too and respond that he was just in the neighbourhood. Maybe with some sort of baked good and coffee in hand. Observe and underline the twinkle in her eyes at someone doing something nice for her unprompted.

See? Casual.

It was as easy as meeting her outside the building doors and walking her into work, watching her breath come out as little clouds in the crisp Midtown air. He might have had the sudden urge to wrap the dangling scarf around her once more because, of course, she didn’t zip her coat off all the way, and now she was shivering.

Super casual.

And after a while, he found he didn’t really need the excuses or the justifications anymore. They seemed to just naturally gravitate towards each other.

“Barton, please tell me you got the good stuff,” a pre-caffeinated Darcy sighed, massaging her temples as if it’d erase the 4 hours of sleep she should have gotten that night.

Sunglasses still on her face, though she was halfway through the building, she quickly snatched the white pastry bag out of his hand and inspected it with a satisfied moan at the bagel inside. Tearing off a piece shoving it into her mouth, she didn’t otherwise address him until she swallowed it down.

Apparently satisfied with his sacrifice of getting up at the asscrack of dawn to make it to the office on Jane time, she smiled slightly before groaning, “Ugh, finally.”

In turn, she’d handed him a coffee cup from a spot near her place. How she knew it was his favourite caffeine fix, he’d never know. But it always arrived still hot and perfectly black, hitting his soul in all the right ways.

They’d always call it even, roles set in stone without either of them really agreeing to it. Clint wasn’t sure how exactly the trade-off began. He was too stubborn to ask, and she seemed too determined to want to stop the exchange, so they just accepted it.

At least, that’s how he thought it went.

However it started, it quickly became their routine whenever he was at the labs, or she ended up at the Tower. Between his not-so-random visits and her many seemingly unexplained trips to Stark — no,  _ Avengers _ Tower (Tony was going to kill him for that slip up one day), Clint managed to see Darcy up close and personal quite frequently from then on.

It was  _ completely casual _ .

“Who’s the girl?” Nat asked, peering over his shoulder at Darcy, flitting down the hall towards her office.

Here the spy was an unusual show of public nosiness, arms crossed in his silent smoulder, eyeing the brunette up and down. Rubbing it in, no doubt. Wait — why was she even here?

Oh, God. He’d never hear the end of it now.

“You’re a spy, Tasha. Don’t you know everyone in this building?” he asked levelly, doubling down on his hunch and trying to force her to admit it already.

She tilted her head and looked at him, feigning surprise at his accusation.

C’mon, quit it with the show here, Nat. He knew her better than that.

“I’m not  _ that _ creepy, Clint.”  _ Well. _ She really knew how to unstroke his ego. “Why? Who’s she to you?”

He visibly stuttered to a halt, staring her down as he tried to piece together if she was just fucking with him. But in all his knowledge of the redhead, he’d never known her to play dumb for something as petty as a pick-me-up in all their time together.

No, this was all wrong. Natasha should be smug and gloating by now.

OK, back it up, champ. There’s no way that whole scene was orchestrated by some astrophysicist’s assistant.  _ Right? _ Had he really lost his touch that much? It all started clicking into place in his head—all those little things he’d picked up on in his time at the labs.

Sure, he was a perceptive guy (should be, for a former spy and all), and sure, some odd things were bound to happen seeing her in her natural work habitat. But between Nat’s cluelessness and the clues he’d brushed aside, he quickly realized Darcy Lewis had many secrets.

So looking back, he started taking stock of the finer details he might have been glossing over.

Little things.

And as with all little things, they were all one-offs, really— until they weren’t.

Like that time she  _ accidentally _ switched out Tony’s stash of imported espresso grinds for decaf. He’d never seen Tony as broken as he was on the fourth day of the switch, having realized the excruciating headaches he’d been suffering had been from caffeine withdrawal.

Of course, Clint knew she’d switched the beans. Watched her do it and everything. But, he’d placed bets on it being six days before the billionaire noticed, so he wasn’t about to tell anyone.

(He’d also watched her talk her way out of it, and frankly, that alone was worth the money he’d lost on the bet.)

There was also that way she’d bound around corners and  _ accidentally _ run into the most attractive guys in the building (himself included,  _ obviously _ ). At first, he just thought she was a natural magnet for awkward situations.

It was the little “oh! I’m sorry” that tipped him off. The one he’d overheard three times in two days when he, Steve  _ and _ Bucky had happened to be at Stark’s.

Of course, it wasn’t all devious… Though he would have still been more than OK with it if it had been.

There were those cupcakes that seemed to magically appear on people’s desks on their birthday (he still wasn’t sure how she managed to figure that one out since she definitely didn’t have access to HR files).

He’d caught her placing one on Tony’s desk at the end of May (with a little note that said ‘gluten-free’— because of course, she knew that Tony wasn’t eating gluten that month).

How flowers would show up on peoples’ desks throughout the day when they were looking sad or run-down.

Or the community library that seemed to show up overnight up in the break room after a particularly brutal project.

All these little secrets he’d been in on. Sometimes, from the shadows and other times, he was right there with her, handing her a bagel or a coffee cup like it was any other day. She’d wink and smile and excuse herself to do the deed, and she never seemed to question it. She never asked why he never said anything (not even to Nat), or why he was suddenly making excuses to be around, or why he’d happily let her get away with murder.

It wasn’t until he asked himself those same questions that he realized the answer all boiled down to one simple, stupid thing. One that he wasn’t about to respond to Nat with. Not out loud.

“ _ Shit _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two in honour of our favourite bird boy's birthday!
> 
> And hopefully this chapter answered a couple theories (and maybe created some more questions?).


	3. Chapter 3

If it wasn’t exceedingly obvious already, this whole situation was decidedly  _ not casual _ .

That simple realization hit Clint Barton harder than he thought it would. It wasn’t bad enough that it took him this long to piece it together. He was a goddamn spy, assassin, and former SHIELD agent, and frankly, this whole thing was getting to be pretty embarrassing.

What made it all infinitely worse was how long it took him to fight back the doubts that had settled in.

That tiny Jiminy Cricket voice in the back of his head that kept talking him out of it. The constant intrusive reminders he barely knew this girl. In fact, the only reason he even knew where she grew up was because they worked at an intelligence agency, and he’d been watching her file for months already.

And  _ wow _ , that sounded a lot creepier when he pieced it together in his head.

That ‘intelligence agency’ did up being an evil organization in the end, though — which, come to think of it, didn’t really help his case.

He was at a loss. Where would he even begin, if he did end up trying?

Well, Clint was awful with scripts, bad with trying to improvise, and managed somehow to have an even  _ worse _ track record of saying the right thing — never mind relationships in general. Several disastrous dates and the divorce a few years back taught him as much.

Learning from his mistakes also wasn’t his strong suit… Did he mention that already?

And yet, inexplicably, he wanted — no, he  _ needed _ — to take a chance here. He wanted a shot at… whatever this was because it seemed different, somehow. Witchcraft, he decided. It must have been witchcraft that explained how Darcy was able to disarm and charm him like this.

And maybe it was one too many concussions, or maybe he really was the dumb blonde his bravado had been trying to project this whole time, but he really, truly believed in Darcy Lewis.

He couldn’t explain  _ why _ , but he did.

He’d stewed about it for hours. Worked up the nerve and agonized over every word he needed to get out of his mouth. So, with the universe planted firmly on not his side (as usual), when he did finally did end up acting on his realization, it obviously didn’t go how he’d expected it to.

How flustered could a guy get over asking a girl out to eat anyway? Of  _ course _ , that was the last thought to cross his mind as the words haphazardly tumbled from his lips, “D’you have dinner plans?”

Who knew his years of training would fly out the window with the flash of her smile, the one that sent thumps through his chest. When was the last time he’d felt this way? He honestly couldn’t remember.

“Dinner?” she parroted back blankly.

He suddenly regretted his open-ended ask very much, realizing he’d looked into those grey-green eyes and panicked. He should have led into it; he should have explained. Maybe cracked a joke — self-deprecating usually did the trick. He was a heartbeat away from walking it back and pretending it never happened, locking himself in his Brooklyn apartment and trying again on this whole life thing next week.

But taking a deep breath, he attempted a very casual, “Yeah, get dinner. With me. I mean, if you have plans—”

“Is that your super-secret spy way of asking me on a  _ date _ ?”

Her eyes glimmered in the light, and suddenly Clint was wondering if she was just busting his balls or if she really hadn’t thought he’d asked. Maybe she wasn’t interested at all.

“Or am I already on a date, and I don’t even know it yet?” she continued with a skeptical glance, eyes sweeping him up and down as if trying to suss him out.

“Darcy…” But before he could attempt to get a word in edge-wise, she was back to the races.

“Wait. Are we already in a relationship? Because we  _ are _ pretty cozy sometimes. Is this the part when you say ‘I’ve got you right where I want you?’—no, that’s not right. That’s more super _ villain _ than super  _ spy _ . Is this some kind of, like, alternate universe?” she rambled, eyes alight at the possibilities streaming straight from brain to mouth in that moment.

“Darcy,” he sighed, rubbing his hands over his face to snap himself out of it. How was he so bad at this? “Do you want to go out to dinner with me tonight?”

Her quizzical look was quickly replaced with what he expected an exclamation mark to look like in human form. Did he really catch her that off guard? It only took a moment for her eyebrows to settle back where they belonged and a slight smirk to grace her lips.

“You buying? Because let me tell you, lab assistant rates aren’t what they used to be,” she drawled.

He very much doubted even she knew what standard lab rates were, especially now that she worked for Stark. But he wasn’t about to call her on it when he was asking her out.

“Weren’t you an unpaid intern before this?”

She flashed him a grin, a sparkle in her stormy eyes as she shrugged.

“And now I have dental. My point still stands.”

And that was just how it was. How they were.

There was no direct yes or drawn-out barter of where they’d go, but they found themselves at a local bistro that night because Clint decided that a bar was too casual. And after how clear as mud the invitation had been, he needed his choice to require no translation. Candlelit and abuzz with flirty chatter in the air from neighbouring tables. He got whatever what on tap, she opted for a cocktail, and the exchange flowed smoothly.

There was a tempo they had to maintain, just enough tension that both of them were hooked in. It was a constant dance of precise, well-placed snide remarks with so much subtext Clint was going to need flashcards to keep up.

He’d say he let her lead, but Darcy Lewis was capable of steering conversation all on her own. He suddenly found himself at the opposite end of an interrogation about his life in Iowa. Clint wouldn’t tell her everything — he wouldn’t want to scare the poor girl off with his personal-hell-slash-sob story — just enough to keep it interesting.

“So, you ran away to the circus?”

He was suddenly regretting being so open because frankly, her tone said she was  _ too _ interested.

She ran the tip of her finger around the coupe’s rim in front of her, enraptured in Clint’s life story. Elbows on the table, waiting on the edge of her seat for the rest of the tale. From any other woman, just  _ one _ of these signals would be the only hint he needed that she was in, hook line and sinker.

But with Darcy… with the banter and the quick wit and her ever-changing expressions, he wasn’t so sure it wasn’t just another fleeting moment in her exciting life.

Sure, in his normal day-to-day, he flirted mercilessly when it served him, he people watched because it was literally his job, and he occasionally talked when it worked in his favour. But there was something different here, something felt…

He squinted at her original question, trying to decide whether the truth would make him sound like a total loser, “I mean, kind of, yes?”

Darcy took a moment to consider his answer like she wasn’t sure he was telling the truth.

“Who knew I was in the company of a real-life Lost Boy,” she said, somewhere between awe and sarcasm.

Clint quirked his brow, unable to decide which end of the spectrum her reaction lay. Needless to say, he was pretty sure she wasn’t accusing him of vampirism.

“Really, a Peter Pan reference?”

“Well,  _ are _ you ever planning on growing up? Because it seems pretty fitting from where I’m sitting,” and there she was, right back with him.

And she wasn’t wrong.

It was this spitfire personality that kept him in check, on the edge of  _ his _ seat, he realized.

The back and forth, that power play and snarky commentary. When she was all snarky comments and back-handed compliments. Anyone else would assume he’d be leading the flirtation here, but anyone else would be wrong.

And as much as he jokingly questioned her sanity, from all the things he’d methodically kept mental notes on, he knew better than to think she was anything other than incredibly intelligent (if her bistro banter didn’t make that obvious).

Clint had come to that particular conclusion after day two of the New Mexico job, confirmed again in London’s report. He remembered wondering if she even knew what they were getting into, but observed her read the stacks of SHIELD paperwork presented to her line-by-line.

Sure, she played a flippant millennial in the real world, but there was more to her.

He was sure of it, and he needed suddenly to know it all.

She was the kind of girl that wouldn’t take shit from anyone to their face but needed to recharge behind the scenes. After all, he’d seen that soft spot in action, that individual attention and implausible perceptibility that always managed to surprise him. That care and gentleness, the red cheeks and the pink lips, the quiet questions and the groggy good mornings.

Seriously, he couldn’t underline that enough. If she applied herself to anything beyond her good Samaritan act (sprinkles of deviousness, of course), she had Widow-level people reading skills.

And of course, it helped that she was beautiful.

And it wasn’t in an ‘I would totally fuck her’ sort of way (though, if he was honest…), it was something deeper. Something more than the wild brown hair, the curves, and thick-framed glasses. Something beyond the fact she was so ready to fight anything that threatened those she cared for.

Even big, scary intelligence agencies. Oh, and aliens.

Clint couldn’t help but notice how she leaned in towards him as she told him about her life at Culver and how she got involved with Jane. The hitch in her breath when his hand brushed hers reaching for his drink off the table. The way her eyes barely left his the whole night.

And the only time they had, they’d drifted to his mouth.

Dessert was wrapped in smiles around the tiny table. He’d paid, but not before she ribbed him in a half-hearted attempt to split the bill. They dressed in their jackets and headed outside before he stopped to bundle her up better. Couldn’t have her catching a cold, after all.

Her eyes were more blue than grey tonight, peeking up at him through her lashes as he tucked the trailing end of her knit scarf into her jacket. His hands lingered a little too long at her collar, hers sneaking up to meet them, ice-cold already.

“So, are you going to do it?”

The dare lingered on her lips longer than he would have liked, but the words caught him so off guard he found his eyebrows flying toward his hairline. Settling his expression into some more aloof, he cleared his throat and tried again.

“Do what?” he challenged, feigning dumb. It was a talent of his, after all.

“Kiss me, dummy,” she said with a playful eye roll.

Clint was never one to back down from a dare.

She managed to blink before his hands were wrapped into either side of her face, gently sweeping his thumbs across her cheeks. Darcy looked up at him as he tilted her chin up and pressed his mouth to hers to seal the deal.

The kiss started off gentle and precise. Darcy tasted like mint and limes, a subtle sweetness leftover from the drinks passing from her to him. But it wasn’t long before her fingers tangled in the wool of his jacket, pulling him even closer, deepening to bruising potential. She nipped at his lower lip just as he pulled back for air, and he had to hold back a groan.

He added it to the list of things he needed more of in life. Top of the list.

Clint couldn’t take his eyes off her, and the smirk firmly planted on her now-red lips, steady streams of breath visible in the cold night air. It was  _ this _ ego boost, this rush of dopamine and adrenaline that teetered on the edge that he’d been chasing.

All he knew was, whatever happened, he didn’t want to lose this feeling.

“What? Were you going to keep up the chivalrous act all night or something, Barton?” She talked a big game, but he didn’t miss how breathless she was or how she absentmindedly traced her thumb across her lower lip. “I’m disappointed, frankly.”

It was that moment that Clint Barton knew he was well and truly fucked.

Because as good as he was at hiding how nervous this whole thing made him, he knew two things — though he wouldn’t admit either out loud, for a long,  _ long _ time.

He was in love, and he was in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we come to the end of this work! Thank you so much for every read, kudos, comment and bookmark.
> 
> The next part in this 'series' will be back in the post-Snap timeline (then back to this timeline after that), so be sure to subscribe to the series if you'd like to continue following along.

**Author's Note:**

> All comments and kudos are loved and cherished.  
> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://pasmonblog.tumblr.com/), where I post a lot of Hawkeye content, work updates, and behind-the-scenes commentary.


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